


A Winner, Bob (aka 'How A Blue Shirt Got New Life')

by TroubleScout



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, emotional honesty, shirt fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-16 23:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4643463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroubleScout/pseuds/TroubleScout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having cleared Logan's name of murder, Veronica spends the night in his bed. Logan struggles to accept this new reality. Set during the movie. Not totally fluffy, but pretty darn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winner, Bob (aka 'How A Blue Shirt Got New Life')

**Author's Note:**

> Finishing fic #2 got my creative juices flowing for this long gestating fic. The last one's barely out of the gate, but here's fic #3. My first foray into "M" town, so be kind...

Logan cocks his head to the side, admiring the sight of Veronica’s golden head tucked into the crook of his arm, slumbering in his bed. He should be spent too, but instead he’s riled with energy and can’t get his mind to power down. Everything in his life has turned inside out in the matter of a week. Two more weeks and it will be remade again. The oscillation between devastation and euphoria has him feeling a bit unsteady. What he needs is a distraction. 

The Navy has made him crave purpose, but at this moment, staring into the dark, he has none. He’s tempted to rededicate himself to making Veronica mewl his name, but they’ve already gone two rounds and he knows she’s exhausted. Her father’s accident was yesterday and she only clubbed Cobb six hours ago. She needs sleep.

Intent on not disturbing her with his restlessness, he carefully extracts himself from Veronica’s embrace and immediately misses the warmth of her skin. She’s not going to disappear, Logan reminds himself, at least not tonight. He pulls on his boxer briefs and makes his way to the window to stare at the ocean. What he’d really like to do is go for a run, but 2 a.m. isn’t exactly the optimal time to go sprinting down the beach. 

Scanning the room for alternatives, he spies his his navy blue button-down at the top of the hamper and can’t resist revisiting it. Fingering it’s now buttonless lapels, the previous night floods back to him with a heady rush, making his belly warm, his groin tight. The memory of Veronica ripping off his clothes to have sex with him against an arts and crafts pillar is disarming. The look in her eyes while doing so? Infinitely more so.

As if hearing Logan's thoughts, Veronica whimpers and stretches in her sleep, drawing his attention. He eyes her adoringly, disbelievingly, still trying to let this new reality settle. Understanding that it won’t anytime soon though, he carefully retrieves the buttons they had scrounged off her father’s floor and a sewing kit from the dresser drawer, making his way to the living room. He turns on a small lamp and takes a seat, set on his menial task. 

The diversion is sufficiently purposeful to be effective, but it turns out to be short-lived. Logan gets as far as replacing one button before Veronica delicately materializes behind him, slipping her arms down his chest.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he says quietly, grasping her forearm.

“Bed got cold,” comes her reply, her voice rough with sleep. “Whatcha doing?”

“Fixing my shirt.”

She chuckles low in his ear, bewildered at the sight of him with a needle and thread. “Call me crazy, but I think you can afford a new one.”

He smiles without breaking focus, piercing the cloth. “You’re certifiable if you think I'm ever getting rid of this _particular_ garment.” 

Veronica admires his brow, gently furrowed with deliberation, as she slinks around his side, casually sliding the shirt out of his grasp. As the needle tings against the ground, forgotten, Logan is left smirking at his empty hands. 

When he does look up, Veronica is holding out the garment while pretending to contemplate it’s value, shielding her body from his gaze. It’s then that Logan notices the flashes of hipbone and the exterior curves of her breasts dancing behind the fabric. He becomes painfully aware she’s naked and significantly less preoccupied by his shirt.

“This old thing?” Veronica teases, peering at him over the collar, quirking a brow. “I can’t imagine it’d be worth all that trouble?” She turns around, flashing him her bare backside, carefully gliding on the shirt before turning back around. Her reverse strip tease has left her completely covered and him effectively aroused.

His only reply is to shift in his seat.

“Particularly fond of it are we?” she goads, straddling his lap. The irony that the one button he replaced falls just below her bellybutton, effectively shielding all her X-rated parts from his view, is not lost on him. He considers thumbing the offending fastening open, but resolves to stay restrained, curious to see how events play out. 

“It has it’s strong points,” he contends.

“Obviously not the buttons," Veronica says coyly, catching his eye. Then she adorably pouts, feigning confusion while trying to button additional buttons, and Logan works his jaw, desperately attempting not to beam a thousand watt smile. 

He refuses to be completely sidetracked by her charms though. With the goal of making his case, he runs his hands up her back then drags his thumbs down over her nipples which are pert and pebbled, tenting the fabric. “Oooh,” she keens, her eyes falling closed, then reopening slowly with a winning smile. “Now I see.”

“I can be very revelatory.”

“I have a _vague_ recollection. Care to give me a refresher?”

Watching Veronica intently, Logan gently nudges the fabric off her chest with deliberate, slow sweeps of his index fingers, akin to drawing drapes. Her breath hitches as the shirt slips down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts. They swell and her nipples pucker further. He can tell she's dying for them to be touched, to be tasted, but he resolves to let her linger in that anticipation.

Instead, he holds her gaze as he spreads his legs, which in turn spreads her thighs even farther. Exactingly, he slips a hand under the hem of the shirt and his middle finger straight into her to the hilt. The shocked, breathy moan on her face is everything he wants it to be. She rocks against his hand and he buries a second finger inside her, curling his digits forward; beckoning her internally while thumbing her clit. She vice grips the chair’s floating arms for stability, while her thighs undulate underneath them, taut.

As Logan pumps his arm, Veronica clamors, clamping a hand around the back of his head, and he watches her writhe, then come. 

Giving her little time to come down, he snakes her around the waist while removing his hand, pressing her wet heat against his straining groin. Longing to taste her, he drags his slick fingers across her nipples before dipping his head to capture one in his mouth, teasing it with tongue and teeth, palming and pinching the other. Drawing on them hard, her head snaps back in exquisite torture.

Blinded by his ministrations and gasping for breath, she grinds raggedly against him, raking her nails across his scalp, drawing him close. Twisting a trembling, eager hand between them, she releases him from his underwear and guides him to her entrance. Taking her cue, he grasps her hips and slams up into her with desperate, delicious friction, grunting primally into her neck. Her head falls onto his shoulder with an open mouth, his name clenched in her throat.

It takes a moment before they begin to move.

———

Later, back in bed, the moonlight sweeps over them as they rest in unhurried silence. Sore and sleepy, their peacefulness is only interrupted when Veronica dips her chin and vibrates against him, a rumble of laughter erupting from her chest. 

Wondering if her sudden amusement is a symptom of post coital euphoria or sleep deprived delirium, Logan catches her eye, searching.

“You sew,” she admits with a sudden burst of hysterical giggles and he groans, rolling away in comedic exasperation. She crawls after him on shaky limbs, with loving, teasing mirth, “In all my Navy fighter pilot fantasies, I never imagined the sewing. _Such a mistake_.”

She plunks back down next to him, half on top of him, and he rolls his eyes with a grin, “Well, I’m glad my hard earned skills impress you.”

“They really do,” she says with sarcasm, but it lands totally sincere. She flattens her palm against his chest, looking up at him with a smile. 

Minutes pass before he sees her distract, her mood recognizably shifting towards less Logan-based happiness. He cocks his head, curious. “What mouse are you toying with now, Bobcat?”

Veronica's eyes spark, a combination of lust and pride. “I just can’t wait to send that footage of Lamb to the press tomorrow. They’re going to roast him on a spit.”

“Ahhh,” he gives her a squeeze, “you’re favorite recipe.”

“A _classic_. Although I haven’t had the pleasure of busting it out in quite some time. It’s almost a shame it’ll soon be retired. Or should I say, _recalled_. Muahaha,” she evil-laughs, drumming her fingers together.

Logan snorts. “I’m sure you’ll have another opportunity to dole it out before all is said and done.” He pushes a stray lock of hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear. She’s grinning like a cheshire cat and he can’t help but take note, “God, you are a vengeful thing.”

Veronica pauses then, her face growing serious; contemplative. “This is who I am.”

“I know,” he says plainly, unsure of her intention. When she doesn’t continue, he offers carefully, “Your penchant for doling out comeuppance… never been a deterrent for me,” smoothing a palm over the small of her back. Her fingers curl into a weak fist, then unfurl again against his sternum. 

“But it was for me,” she reveals solemnly. “I worked so hard to convince myself this wasn’t who I _should_ be. To leave it behind.”

“Veronica—" He begins to shift and she stops him.

"You never asked me to stay, Logan.”

“And now?” he’s almost afraid to ask.

“I’m tired of pretending. I just wanna be me.”

Her words settle between them before he quietly replies, “Sounds good,” closing his hand over hers with reverence. “I like you.”

“Logan, I couldn’t—,” her small voice falters, thick with emotion, “Couldn’t not be me around— That’s why— That’s the reason—”

He squeezes her hand tighter. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” she chokes, tears slipping down her cheeks, helplessly overcome. “I missed you,” barely leaving her lungs.

Veronica closes her eyes, trying to control her emotions, and Logan cradles her face. “We’re here now,” he soothes, kissing her gently. She rolls over onto her back, gasping, and he follows, but their contact remains insufficient. She pulls his full bodyweight on top of hers, waiting for her breath to even. In the interim, he just keeps kissing her; small, random, soothing brushes of his lips against the plains of her face.

Eventually Veronica sighs and shakes her head a little, a tiny ghost of a smile creeping back up onto her lips. 

“What?” He nudges his nose against hers, coaxing a larger smile.

“Nothing,” she lies, opening her bleary eyes to take him in. “Forgotten how good this feels."

“What?”

“You and me.”

———

In the morning, Veronica wakes to the sounds of him making coffee. Noticing his shirt hanging over the back of the nearby chair, she slides it on and overlaps it closed, chasing after him and her morning caffeine kick.

When she enters the kitchen, Logan catches sight of her with her arms crossed over her chest and smirks. She tips up to kiss him and wonders, “What?” as he passes her a steaming mug of South America’s finest.

“Oh, nothing,” he feigns, “You just seem _awfully_ fond of that article of clothing for someone who wanted get rid of it.” He holds out a pastry for her other hand, knowing full well it’s occupied securing the shirt. 

She eyes the bearclaw, then Logan, accusingly. “Well you see, it's got this pretty inevitable shortcoming.”

“Why, _whatever do mean_?” he goads, gently wagging the danish in front of her enticingly.

Never one to be had, Veronica rallies, defiantly arching an eyebrow then letting the shirt fall open. Being much too large on her, it settles low on her shoulders and separates down the middle. With her newly unoccupied hand, she claims the bearclaw and takes a large satisfying bite, grinning cockily as she chews.

Logan heavily rakes his eyes over her newly exposed strip of flesh, running from breastbone to pubic bone, with much appreciation, but he's composed. Deliberate.

“And here I was thinking you'd be all for the inevitable comings of the short and the pretty,” he says, trailing the tip of his middle finger down the inner curve of her breast, then her belly with a swirl. With calculated casualty, he stops abruptly when he reaches her shorn curls, lingering. “But since you're so obviously against it,” he quick-changes his demeanor from coaxing to feigned indifference, “it’s a good thing I can sew.” He meticulously pinches a button and a corresponding eyelet in opposite hands, then with a look of concentration begins to draw them together. “See? Good as ne—“

“Don't. You. _Dare_.”

His line of sight flicks up to meet hers, finding her eyes so dilated they're barely blue. His hands quickly toss the lapels of their new favorite shirt out of the way, baring her breasts so they can press against his naked torso. His hands snake around to palm her ass while their mouths fuse. His fingers sliding toward her wet heat.

“OH! Whoa, _hey now_! Good morning sailor!” Dick’s voice booms as he proceeds towards them, pretending to cover his eyes, but peeking with amused glee as they pull apart.

Frustrated, Logan resigns himself to the interruption, blowing out a stream of air while Veronica silently grumbles. With constrained movements and fastidious care, he proceeds to button the blue shirt, shielding her from his best friend's leering and giving himself a chance to subdue his own arousal. Once finished, he kisses Veronica's nose and she reclaims her coffee and pastry from the counter behind him. She also adorably harumphs as she turns around, telegraphing a devil-glare at Dick who’s been rummaging through the pantry.

Unfazed, Dick grins. “Hey, if you guys are gonna have continued sexy times _here_ , at may I remind you, _my humble abode_ , you can at least pretend to keep it in the confines of your non-room. This here's a place of food preparation. It's plain unsanitary,” he says gulping orange juice straight from the carton. Then he hops onto the counter in his boxer shorts, shoveling Cinnamon Toast Crunch into his mouth. 

Amused, Logan grabs his own coffee while Veronica rolls her eyes. As they exit, Logan accepts a bite of cereal Dick offers in passing. Being fed like a baby bird and feeling remarkably surefooted, he rests his free hand against Veronica's hip, silently acknowledging a sense of calm as they meander back to his space.

“I’m not loving this living arrangement,” she says gruffly.

“Fair enough,” he concedes, sliding his palm over her warm belly. He weaves his fingers through the shirt plackets to touch her skin, no longer hankering for the diversion of it, but craving it nonetheless.

She softens, leaning into him,  “But I do love this shirt.”  


And quietly an acceptance washes over him. However turbulent and temporary and yes, even dreamlike it may be, _this is his life_ , Logan resolves and he smiles. 

“Definitely a winner, Bob.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, actually a winner?


End file.
